8. Ciaran

8

CIARAN

R aj, Kinzy, Rowen, and Brieana piled into the limousine my mom's new husband arranged to take us to the airport.

I wasn't going to not let them come. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts, not after my less-than-stellar parting with Drew last week. He'd avoided me since that day, which was the longest we'd ever gone without speaking.

Even my friends noticed, but they thought it was a good thing considering they thought Mr. Jones was obsessed with me.

It was the other way around, obviously.

Another thing that threw me for a loop was that Mom told me that she and Stefon would be leaving for a three-week honeymoon tomorrow. She was moving me to Malibu on my eighteenth birthday and then promptly abandoning me.

Happy birthday to me.

Apparently this wasn't a terrible arrangement because Matthias, Stefon's twenty-one-year-old son, would be around to keep me company.

More like babysit me.

In the limo, Kinzy opened the mini fridge in the back. "Whoa, look at this," she gushed. It was full of water, liquor, sodas, and snacks, like M&Ms. Kinzy lifted the snacks. "Can we partake, Ms. Galbr—? Er…," Kinzy amended, looking sheepish. "What's your new last name again?"

"Vaulteneau," Mom answered proudly, pronouncing it like a French woman, Vau-de-nue . "And you can consume anything you want but the liquor." She'd been smiling nonstop since getting married.

As I watched the Nevada desert roll by, I couldn't even enjoy cold M&Ms during my first ride in a limousine.

On top of Drew icing me out, I was grumpy because I'd yet to meet my mom's husband. The man came in, married my mom, and didn't even so much as say hello to my face. It wasn't a good start. Mom said Stefon wanted to get everything ready for us. I said he was a coward for not wanting to face me without the support of a glittering mansion in the backdrop.

Over the last several days, my friends and I took our Internet stalking duties very seriously as we conducted our own investigations on Stefon Vaulteneau.

Stefon Vaulteneau was a sixty-one-year-old widower and the father of two. His oldest son, Dante, was twenty-eight years old and a senior vice president who lived in Asia. Matthias was twenty-one, a college student, and a champion swimmer on track for the Olympics.

Stefon Vaulteneau owned so many businesses, it took pages upon pages to list them all. He financed art and movies, and start-ups. Vaulteneau Group, Inc., was also a major investor in streaming companies like Netflix, owning millions of shares. The group owned luxury apartment buildings in almost every major city. Additionally, he was on the board of directors for so many corporations that Raj wondered if the man was an android. I couldn't fault Raj's logic there.

We didn't learn much about Dante other than what was in his LinkedIn profile, and my friends quickly lost interest in the elder Vaulteneau once Brieana found an online image of Matthias.

"Yowza," Brieana had said with a whistle. "He's a dreamboat."

Brieana wasn't lying. For several days, I'd been low-key haunting celebrity tabloid websites to study his image. Dark hair, dark eyes, handsome face, impeccable taste in designer fashion. I'd even found older USA Swimming news about Matthias winning several Junior Nationals competitions.

And a few months ago, People Magazine had coined Matthias the "Prince of Malibu" in their Sexiest Man Alive issue.

Matthias Vaulteneau looked as arrogant as he was hot, and I bet he was very arrogant.

As we entered the airport grounds, Rowen nudged my side. Wordlessly, he showed me a recent tabloid article, which featured several photos of Matthias. The caption read, "Matthias Vaulteneau and date Zoey Anderson attend Grand View Indie Film Fest."

It was from last night at a film premiere where he stood next to a beautiful blond starlet. I wondered if the blond on his arm was his girlfriend. In the image, they'd just exited a bright red Ferrari.

Matthias's perfect smile and his confident stance did nothing for me. Nothing at all.

We couldn't be more different. He was a prince and I was a pauper. I was never going to fit into this world. Maybe it wasn't too late to call the whole thing off.

Kinzy stole Rowen's phone. "Hey guys, look," Kinzy said, showing the others.

Brieana did a fake swoon move while Raj pushed up his eyeglasses and tsked in a manner that suggested he wasn't impressed at all.

"He looks like a show-off," Raj said under his breath.

"Do you think it's his Ferrari?" Rowen asked in a dreamy voice once he spotted the exotic car in the background. "Think your new stepbrother will let me drive it when I come to visit?"

"Stop calling him that," I mumbled, but Mom gave me a stern look. I forced a smile. In a sugary-sweet tone, I said, "I'm sure he'll let us all take turns, Rowen." Mom didn't like that, either.

Overall, though, my friends were impressed with everything Vaulteneau as we pulled into the private terminal section of the Las Vegas international airport. For me, though, it felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind.

Mom and I spent the last week packing the things we wanted to take to Malibu. Mom suggested I take only the essentials, like a few articles of clothing, books, and keepsakes. "We'll buy whatever we need when we get there, sweetie," she'd said as we taped up boxes for the movers. Family albums and Grandpa Tommy's tchotchkes made the cut, as did Mom's Vegas Showgirl outfits, to include the huge white feathers.

I made sure to pack up my writing journals, some artwork that Kinzy painted for me last year, and because I was a sentimental sap, I packed the poems Rowen wrote me when we dated in freshman year. They weren't particularly good, but it showed a softer, emotional side he rarely revealed.

I'd been worried about our ability to sell the deli and the upstairs apartment, but apparently Stefon's attorneys took care of everything. In under a week, a huge sum of money had been deposited into Mom's checking account. From that, she paid our employees bonuses even though the new owner planned to employ them.

The amount that was left over was placed in my savings account. "Play money," Mom called it. Considering she'd deposited close to twenty thousand dollars, I had a feeling that Stefon's wealth was staggering if that was considered "play money."

"How'd Bruce the Sportswriter take the news?" I asked Mom on a whim.

She laughed. "He seemed pretty nervous once he realized who I married. Bruce apologized profusely for always asking me out."

I took that to mean Stefon Vaulteneau was well known in Vegas circles. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

I knew nothing about planes but as the limo pulled alongside a sleek white jet, my jaw hit the floor. My mom exited the limo and spoke to the captain, who agreed to let everyone inspect the plane. Once we were on board, my feet found plush gray carpets, and I saw dove-gray leather seats with diamond-patterned seat backs with private tables at each one.

The flight attendant took pity on a group of curious teenagers, so she showed us the owner's suite, with a full-size bed, two nightstands, and a large flat screen television. The latrine was nothing like in a normal plane, but an elegant restroom with a porcelain tile standing shower.

Back in the main cabin, Kinzy sat in one of the glorious chairs, which was replete with a dinnerware setup, and started taking selfies. "This is totally going up on Insta," she gushed.

I chuckled when I spotted Rowen. He was filming a YouTube Shorts video highlighting the jet for his followers. From the cockpit, Raj and Brieana were peppering the co-captain with comments and questions. Not surprisingly, with Brieana's parents being Air Force pilots, she asked excellent questions.

"Mrs. Vaulteneau," the captain said, "we need to be airborne soon."

"Of course, Captain Sosa," Mom said. "Thanks for humoring my son and his friends." She turned to us. "How about I take a group photo for you?"

We made our way to the long couch in the back of the plane so Mom could take a good dozen photos of us in various stages—from serious to flat-out goofy.

Out of all of us, Kinzy was the crier of the group, but I found my eyes wet. "I'll try to come back as often as I can," I told them. Hopefully I was telling the truth. Mom had mentioned that Stefon had regular business in Vegas.

"We'll throw a belated birthday bash this summer," Mom said, "and fly you all to Malibu."

I hugged my friends goodbye and watched them pile back into the limo. The driver, whose stoic, withered face was straight out of a Hemingway novel, had agreed to take everyone back home. Moments later Mom and I were strapped in our seats and the glorious jet effortlessly lifted off the ground.

Over the intercom, the captain informed us that we'd land in LAX in just under an hour. Mr. Vaulteneau's personal chauffeur would meet us at the airport and bring us to the Malibu estate.

"Does Stefon have more than one estate?" I asked.

Mom nodded. "Malibu is the primary residence, but as I understand it, he owns homes in Denver, New York City, London, Dubai, Sydney, and Singapore." Mom was careful to say Stefon owned those properties. Mom was not a gold digger. She'd been given so many opportunities over the years that that was evident enough.

Worry gnawed in my brain. Would others think differently? Would they look down on the kindest woman on the West Coast?

"You don't need to worry about me, Ciaran." She'd been studying my face. "But, I will say this: we are entering a whole new world, honey. Stefon and his family have never known a moment of financial strife. Yes, they'll have to get to know us better, but we'll have to do that, too. I know you'll miss your friends, your school, and Mr. Jones, too, but promise me that you'll try to fit in."

Internally, I jolted at hearing Mr. Jones's name but didn't let on that it bothered me. I could never deny my mom anything. As long as Stefon was good to her, I could withstand anything and get along with anyone.

"Of course, Mom." I smiled at her.

Before we knew it, the flight was over and we were touching down at LAX and taxiing to one of the private terminals.

When the captain escorted us from the plane, a petite Black woman in all black directed us to the waiting dark town car with tinted windows. "My name is Davies, Mrs. Vaulteneau, Mr. Galbraith. I'll drive you to the Vaulteneau cliffside estate."

Mom murmured a gentle, "Thank you, Davies," as we slid into the back seat. An attendant loaded our luggage in the trunk.

I shot Mom a pointed stare. I wanted to ask where her new husband was, why wasn't he here to meet us, but I didn't want to raise her hackles. I'm sure he had a good reason and honestly, Mom didn't look upset.

Slipping on sunglasses, I took stock of my surroundings. I'd never been to Los Angeles before. The bright sun beat down just like it did in Vegas, but the breeze was salty and more humid.

Mom looked effortless in her light pink pantsuit and dusty rose silk blouse ensemble. A thin gold pendant necklace and small gold hoop earrings added to the elegance her figure already possessed. Stefon's assistant had delivered several new pieces to get Mom through the next few days.

In my jeans, dark blue T-shirt, and frayed Chuck Taylors, I dressed more for comfort than style, because who was I trying to impress? The back of my shirt clung to my skin. I blamed the weather, not nerves.

The airport was right off the coast. My eyes met with the bright blue Pacific Ocean, choppy and glittery due to the waves. Behind us, tall skyscrapers touched the sky of downtown Los Angeles.

Once we were out of the city, the driver navigated to the Pacific Coast Highway at the Santa Monica Pier. As we continued, the wide spans of the ocean spread out on the lefthand side while rocky formations with low, craggy trees and brush rose up on the right. Restaurants and small surf and tackle businesses on one side provided a contrast to the ornate, wrought iron gates that led up into the mountainside estates.

It seemed like I was holding my breath when the driver exited the highway and made a series of winding turns. We maneuvered closer to cliffside. The houses got bigger and the cars more exotic.

"We're here," Mom said when we pulled up to a gate. The driver entered the code and two heavy black gates swung inward.

The first thing I noticed was the gold and blue domed turret attached to the three-story estate. There was no way on Earth I could call it a house .

It was a cross between a mansion and a castle and fit for royalty. Palm trees provided little shade for the Spanish-style cream-colored villa. Expert landscaping decorated the driveway circle where drivers dropped off guests. Parking must be underground.

The Vaulteneau cliffside estate was true to its name by being right on the cliff. Other than a rocky drop, nothing stood between it and the ocean. I couldn't fathom the views and my heart did a little flip thinking about sunsets and seeing the stars at night.

It would be a writer's paradise.

Mom offered me an encouraging smile that did nothing to quell the storm in my gut.